Christian is animated, has a delicious sense of humor, and speaks perfect idiomatic English. He works in Air Berlin's administrative offices at the Zurich airport, but when everyone else is busy, he fills in as a handicap escort. We were having so much fun getting acquainted, I forgot we still had to pass Swiss Customs. When we came through the doors, the Customs agent must have thought we were nuts, we were laughing so hard over the misunderstanding with Boyo's "waterproof box." Then Boyo added his three cents and the agent said "Is that a cat?"

I handed over Boyo's paperwork. Monika's name and address were down as the cat's owner, so there was a little confusion over my status. I explained that I'd bred the cat, that he was a gift to Monika, and that while I was just visiting Switzerland, Boyo would be staying. The agent asked if Boyo was neutered, and I said no, he was a stud cat. I further described Boyo's duties: he would be "marrying" Monika's ladies. I hoped he would prove to be an excellent groom and that he and the "girls" would make fine babies. Behind me, I heard Christian snickering, while the Customs agent blanched- but he was trying to keep a straight face. He checked the rabies and health certificates, then asked me to take Boyo out of his carrier. Since the room was enclosed and empty but for us, I didn't hesitate, so the agent could scan Boyo for his universal microchip. (If I haven't mentioned it before, my vet only had the USA Home Again microchip, so I'd had to make special arrangements for the universal version used in Europe, necessitating a trip to another vet. This chip also comes from Home Again, but is without asterisks or letters, and is acceptable in Europe.) Once he was scanned, we determined the cat's value for the VAT- the import tax- and I maneuvered the still howling Tonk back into his carrier.

But we weren't done yet. Let's not forget I'm a chain smoker, and I'd been warned about the price of cigarettes in Europe. Besides, I'm addicted to my own brand. The agent asked me how many cigarettes I had, and I told him four cartons. "Four packages?" he asked. "No," I said, "Four cartons." "Four boxes, " he said, using his hands to demonstrate. "Yes," I said, and totally cracked up at his use of the word "box," since all I could picture was Boyo in a box cushioned with cigarette packs! Of course he didn't understand why I was laughing, and I couldn't let him in on the joke, but Christian was almost doubled over. Then, when the agent opened my suitcase and cigarette packs started tumbling out onto the counter as he was trying to count them, he asked me how long I planned to stay in Switzerland! I didn't realize why he was asking, so it's a good thing I said "I'll just be here two days, then I'm going on to Germany, Austria, Italy, France, Belgium, and the UK, a month in all." "Oh," he said, as he tried to stuff the cigarettes back into my bag. "You're only allowed to bring two hundred cigarettes into Switzerland, but since you're just travelling through, it's okay." Uh-oh, I thought to myself. It's a good thing we didn't have a language barrier here! My Green Smoke electronic cigarette is fine for brief non-smoking-area stints, but it's not the same as the real thing.

The VAT went on my credit card, and we were finally released. Christian wheeled us through the exit, where Monika was anxiously waiting. She'd caught a glimpse of us in the Customs room, and we were taking so long she'd begun to worry. Between giggles, Christian and I related the cigarette story. I hated to say goodbye to him.

It took forever for us to find the rental car agency, especially since I had to stop for a cigarette break, but we finally checked out a snazzy silver Renault Modus. The first thing I noticed after I belted in was the "no smoking" sticker on the dashboard. The second thing I did was roll down the window and light up. I was paying a hundred bucks a day for this vehicle. I wouldn't abuse it, but as long as it was costing me the equivalent of a down payment on a new car, I'd treat it as if it were my own. Before I turn it in, I'll spritz the interior with deodorizer. Meanwhile, I'm going to enjoy my trip. As my younger daughter says, I'm "spoiled and stubborn." To some degree, she's right. But I've also worked hard all my life, so I've earned the right to be myself. At seventy-one, I'm not worried about projecting an image. One of my favorite Broadway plays, "La Cages Au Folles," features the song "I Am Who I Am." I cried the first time I heard the words.

Monika navigated me to her home so we could unload Boyo before we went to my hotel. I'm very glad this wasn't the UK, and I was driving on the right side of the road. As it was, I was so tired my vision was blurring and I know I frightened Monika a couple of times as I got used to driving an unfamiliar vehicle, drifting through the roundabouts and braking too hard at nonexistent lights and stop signs. But we made it to Buchs, and I even managed to climb the three flights of stairs to Monika's apartment without falling back down them from fatigue. Thank goodness Monika was carrying the cat carrier, since Boyo's antics would have had me on my ass.

We ultimately made it up the beautiful polished oak stairs, with me gaining altitude by hauling myself up with the graceful, gleaming Old World oak bannister. Monika has lined the broad honey-hued steps with myriad healthy, huge tropical plants that I kept stopping to admire. She has a green thumb.

It was clear to me from the moment she opened the door that she also loves to read in English. Her apartment is wall-to-wall books, dominated by many of my own favorite American romantic suspense authors. I could have moved in without a qualm, surrounded by Nora Roberts, Linda Howard, Catherine Coulter, Elizabeth Lowell, just for starters. Having also lived in California and England, no wonder Monika's lilting English is so good!

Monika had set up her large bathroom, with its adjoining dressing area, for Boyo. When I let him out of the carrier, he began purring like a well-tuned diesel engine, interspersed with operatic scales al la Pavarotti, head-butting both Monika and me like a small ship eagerly bumping at long last into its home slip after a perilous odyssey. Then he leaped to the sink and gave himself a bath. Monika and I left him to it.

I followed Monika's Volvo to the Aarau West hotel and sports complex. By the time I parked and turned off the ignition, I knew there was no way I was leaving to drive to Munich the next day. Unfortunately, I was booked for just one night, and the hotel was full for the rest of the week. I'd deal with that tomorrow. Right now, I needed the nearest mattress.

The hotel room, bright with yellow and white sheer drapes over broad windows, a cumulous cloud duvet on the king size bed, and a pristine white tiled bathroom, was near perfect. It lacked only the balcony I'd requested- and confirmed- where I could smoke. Switzerland's new law, effective May first, prohibits smoking in hotels. I called the receptionist. She regretted that they had no other accomodations. I said "Then I can't stay." She said she'd call me back. A room with a balcony suddenly became available. Monika said she'd call me around six. I crawled into my nighshirt and when the phone rang, what seemed like moments later, I answered it in my sleep.

Confused and disoriented, I agreed with Monika's plans to meet her and Christine, an acquaintance from the Cat Fanciers' Association list, at Monika's for dinner. I even wrote down the directions back to her house. As I surfaced, however, I realized there was no way I was going to get dressed, get in the car, and try to navigate back to Buchs. I needed to beg off. How about tomorrow night, instead? Would dinner keep? Yes, it would. Could Monika please call Christine and arrange for a change of plans? Yes. Okay.

When the phone rang again, Monika was calling back to tell me Christine had just arrived at her house. We had to eat. How about if Monika and Christine came to the hotel and we went to the restaurant for a drink. I said, how about dinner. Yes? I just had time to get dressed when they knocked on my door.

Christine and I took a few minutes to become acquainted, before we walked over to the dining room. The hotel is actually a sports complex, with tennis courts and a golf course. I think we all expected the restaurant to be very casual, perhaps even a sports bar. Imagine our surprise when we entered through heavy antique double doors, passed through a contemporary lobby with a glass-enclosed smokers' lounge, were greeted by a stunning bi-lingual brunette hostess, and seated at a Hunter-green draped table set with heavy utensils, crystal glassware, and fresh flowers. Low conversation hummed in soft Swiss German, interspersed with other languages, as well-dressed patrons enjoyed thir meals.

The capacious leather-backed menu opened first to a "Spring Menu" that promised good eating for locavores, followed by creative, complex dishes that indicated there was an experienced, innovative chef in the kitchen who understood the value of farm-fresh produce. All of us decided quickly to order from the selections featuring field-grown delicacies.

May is the Swiss month for slender stalks of tender green asparagus. My wild garlic and asparagus cream soup, garnished with herb butter, was silky-smooth, the color of new green peas, and I passed it around our table. None of us had ever heard of wild garlic. Its delicate, slightly sweet flavor brought nods of approval. Monika and Christine had ordered wild garlic-stuffed homemade ravioli with an herbed white sauce. I thoroughly enjoyed asparagus-stuffed gnocchi, also with a rich white sauce, topped with tangy sliced oranges. None of us had room for dessert. Our food reminded me of a cookbook I'd once owned, stained and tattered from wear, that had disappeared somewhere in multiple moves. The book, "Cook Like A Peasant, Eat Like A King," emphasized simple ingredients, exquisitely prepared. I'll have to search ABEBooks.com to see if I can reclaim it. We left the restaurant not only satisfied, but replete.

Adjourning to my room, we exhausted multiple subjects, and ended up sharing cat stories until one in the morning. The three of us "clicked." Monika and I planned to leave early in the morning for Lucerne, to go sightseeing and visit the Tuesday Farmers' Market. We invited Christine, but she had business committments that couldn't be altered. So I had to say goodbye to another new friend.

Monika said she'd pick me up at ten the next day. I could hardly wait!